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 Poetry & Prose • journal entry • a short reflection

Beneath the Surface

 


  


The river appears calm 

from where we stand.

Light moves across the water.

The current goes unseen.



So much of life is like this.

The words left unspoken.

The grief carried quietly.

The courage it takes to begin again.



Beneath the surface, roots search for water.

Seeds prepare for spring.

Clay remembers the pressure that shaped it.

Fibre remembers the hands that wove it.

Even stone carries a history.



We are no different.

Beneath our smiles, live old stories.

Old loves.

Old fears.

Dreams waiting patiently for their season.



Perhaps beauty is not found in perfection.

Perhaps it is found in what remains.

The marks.

The scars.

The evidence of having lived.

The things we rarely show

are often the things that make us most human.



And beneath the surface,

where few people look,

something beautiful is taking shape,

the next version of ourselves begins,

and we quietly become who we are.

 

 

 

 

 




A reminder .. 

Growth is not always visible. It happens quietly, in the dark places, far from view. What lies beneath the surface carries memory, holds wisdom, and prepares what is to come.

Let this be a gentle invitation to trust what you cannot yet see.
To honour the roots, the pressue, the shaping.

Beneath it all, something beautiful is taking shape.

 

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